Mistletoe
by RattyCatty
Summary: Emma and Regina get caught under the mistletoe at a Christmas party at Granny's. Your run of the mill mistletoe story with a side of mild Hook mickey-taking. Swan Queen.
1. Chapter 1

**Here's your run of the mill Christmas mistletoe fanfic written in about five seconds and probably published far too late for it to count for anything! Just a bit of stupid festive fun, so I hope you enjoy it. Happy holidays to all~  
**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Once Upon A Time.**

* * *

It's snowing when the Storybrooke Christmas party happens, and it's appropriately fairytale-esque. White flakes drift from the dusky pink sky, and usually-dull surfaces and buildings are coated with a thick layer of softly sparkling snow. It's wonderful for all.

That is, except, Regina Mills and Emma Swan, who would rather be virtually anywhere else than in the diner crammed with cheery and slightly drunk people.

Emma's on her fourth beer when Hook saunters over and begins flirting voraciously with her, and she's grateful because, God, does she need the alcohol to bear it.

"Oi, Swan. How's a fine lady like you doin' on a day like this, eh?" he slurs, and the Sheriff cringes. _And Snow had the audacity to say_ I've_ had too much to drink. _He's standing much too close for her liking and she can smell the cheap rum on his breath.

"I'm fine, thanks," she says drily and takes a healthy swig of beer.

The pirate smirks lazily and glances up at the ceiling. His eyes widen when he spots a sprig of green hanging from it, and then he smirks even wider.

"I've heard whisperings of a tradition in this realm where two people caught under a bit o' that–" he gestures clumsily to the mistletoe with his hook. "–have to kiss. Is that right?" Hook asks, and though his words are fairly polite (for a pirate), Emma can practically _hear _the smug, lecherous thoughts in his head. He's like a teenage boy talking to an attractive woman for the first time.

The Saviour isn't sure whether to tell him he's right or lie to get out of kissing him, but she doesn't have a chance to answer because Ruby jumps in.

"Hook, I'm cutting you off. You've had way too much to drink. That mistletoe is _clearly _hanging over Emma and Regina."

Emma looks up and is surprised to find that the werewolf is right about the mistletoe hanging over her and Regina, who she finds is standing behind her with the fairy from Neverland, Tinkerbell.

"But–" Hook tries to argue, but Ruby's already managed to grab the former mayor's attention and gesture innocently to the mistletoe.

Regina's brown eyes widen for a split second and Emma thinks she sees something flash in them, but it's gone too fast and the brunette quickly narrows her eyes. Stepping closer to the blonde, she huffs in irritation. "Alright, Miss Swan, let's get this over with."

The Saviour's mouth has gone inexplicably dry; yes, Regina is an attractive woman – Emma's not blind – but it's not like she fancies her. Right?

She doesn't have time to think about it because then she feels the other woman's warm breath on her lips – her breath smells like mint with a hint of apple and just enough alcohol to be enticing but not off-putting. It's a delicious combination and she leans in closer, so they're a mere inch apart.

Regina's breath hitches in her throat and she curses herself for being so pathetic and acting like a teenager having their first ever kiss. She decides to take the plunge before she has the chance to screw up or chicken out, and closes the gap quickly.

When her painted lips press against Emma's surprisingly soft ones, a thrill of excitement goes through her. She can feel the Sheriff's body against her own, soft leather against smooth silk and flesh against flesh. The Sheriff's lips are intoxicating, and it doesn't take long for Regina's lips to part, allowing the Saviour's tongue to snake inside.

Someone moans – neither are sure who – and it makes Regina remember where they are, and just _who_ she's kissing. She reluctantly parts with the blonde and pushes back a dark, out-of-place hair in an attempt to make herself look as if she hadn't just made out with the Sheriff who she used to hate.

"Right," Regina mutters, smoothing imaginary crinkles in her clothes. Just as she's about to walk away, a breathless but smirking Emma grabs her arm and spins her back round to face her.

The brunette's brow furrows and she opens her mouth to ask what the hell the Saviour thinks she's doing, but before she can get the words out, Emma reaches up and runs her thumb slowly across the corner of Regina's mouth. The action causes Regina's gut to tingle slightly.

"Your lipstick smudged," Emma explains with a mischievous smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Happy New Year everyone! This is just a quick thing I whipped up between festivities last night so I apologise for any errors. I hope 2015 is good to you all, and I hope you had a safe New Year's Eve.  
**

**The rating's gone up to T for some sexually suggestive stuff and swearing. Thank you for all the reviews, favourites, and follows!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Once Upon A Time.**

* * *

It's New Year's and the majority of Storybrooke's adults are gathered in the park, waiting eagerly to ring in 2015. There's games and music, and the alcohol flows freely – maybe _too _freely, but it's the one day in the year when nobody cares too much about sobriety.

Regina and Emma haven't talked about their Christmas kiss under the mistletoe once; Emma knows Regina is far too aloof to respond kindly to any mention of it, and as much as the Sheriff loves pissing the brunette off, she doesn't want to ruin the good vibes that are all around at this time of the year.

So neither of them bring it up.

Ruby, of course, has had her share of fun teasing the blonde about it. Every time the wolf girl and the Saviour have been in the same room as the former queen, Ruby has made some lewd, teasing comment of some sort, accompanied by a nudge and a cheeky, knowing smirk.

Currently, Emma is loitering on the grass with Ruby, who has a stein of beer in each hand and a wide grin on her face; she's always been a party girl, and she considers New Year's Eve her time to shine.

"Hey, Emma," she chimes, nudging the Sheriff with an elbow, spilling some of the precious amber nectar in her glass in the process. "You see who's over there?"

Emma looks up over the rim of her glass in the direction her friend is gesturing wildly in. For a moment, she's confused about who she's supposed to be seeing – all she sees is a crowd of rowdy, drunk fairy tale characters, which is weird in itself.

Then she sees who Ruby is pointing to.

Maybe ten metres away, a dark-haired, impeccably dressed woman stands, looking thoroughly unamused and simply relieved to have the large (rapidly draining) glass of wine in her hand.

Regina Mills.

Shit.

The Saviour's face flushes pink as she remembers the sensation of Regina on her lips, her body pressed deliciously against Emma's.

She grunts in response to her enthusiastic best friend, rolls her eyes, and tries to put all thoughts of Regina out of her mind for the rest of the night.

It's entirely coincidental when the two wind up standing next to each other when the countdown to the New Year begins.

When Emma realises who she's standing next to, she curses internally and tries to find a way to put a gap between them – she's too drunk to not make a fool of herself in front of the former mayor and she really doesn't want Regina to think she's more of an idiot than she already thinks. However, the crowd is too dense, and the clock is ticking down to midnight, and she's far too inebriated to make a graceful escape from this.

So she tries to ignore her.

That works fine, until Regina says coolly, "Evening, Miss Swan." She doesn't look away from the temporary stage where a tacky attempt at riling the crowd up is going on, but the smirk on her face and the mischievous twinkle in her eyes make it clear that this is more than just an obligatory hello.

"Hi, Regina," Emma responds as nonchalantly as she can manage, cringing at the way the words clumsily fall off her tongue. She's not that drunk, is she?

Maybe she is.

Just how intoxicated she is – how intoxicated _both _of them are – becomes evident when the countdown begins and both women – usually relatively quiet and introverted – find themselves shouting numbers with the rest of the town.

_Three!_

_Two!_

_One!_

The dull, pitch black sky is flooded with bright colour – red, blue, green, pink, you name it – and the air fills with loud, drunken cheers.

Before Emma knows what's happening, Regina's persistent, painted lips are on hers, and the brunette's slender fingers are weaving themselves into blonde locks.

Maybe there's something between them – a connection or something that could develop into something more – or maybe they're both simply too drunk to know what's what.

Emma doesn't have time to think about it because she finds herself kissing back with a force and passion that matches Regina's almost desperate but somehow still sensual and classy kisses.

_God._

In the six days the Sheriff has spent thinking about and replaying their mistletoe kiss, she's somehow forgotten just how intoxicating the older woman's kisses are. Everything about them is heady and addictive: the softness of Regina's lips, the faint taste of apples, and the feel of the brunette's toned form pressed against hers, the odd almost inaudible whimper that slips from the usually-together woman.

Electricity courses through their forms and terminates between their respective thighs. Regina wonders absently whether she's gone insane, whether this was a terrible moment of weakness that she will pay dearly for, but then Emma's tongue slips into her open mouth and runs along the roof, tasting her and pushing for sweet, soft moans, and she finds she's incapable of any coherent thought.

They reluctantly break apart when air becomes an issue and they sense the crowd around them begin to shift and clumsily filter out of the park.

Regina finds her legs embarrassingly jelly-like and herself ridiculously flustered, but she decides quickly that that's the alcohol's work, not an effect Emma has on her.

Once she's caught her breath, she puts on her most seductive face – the best she can manage while she's as drunk as she is – and says in a husky voice, "I believe our son is spending the night with your parents, meaning that my house is free." It's not the smoothest line she's ever come up with, but they're both considerably drunk so she doubts it matters too much.

Emma gulps. Holy shit. Did Regina Mills just invite her over for the night?

The younger woman realises her jaw is slack, and promptly shuts her mouth before uttering a quick, "Alright."

Regina smirks devilishly at the Saviour's awkwardness and obvious arousal.

The start of their 2015 would be very interesting indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you again for all your kind words! This will be the last chapter in this story, and I hope you lot have enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Once Upon A Time.**

* * *

When Emma opens her eyes, she immediately regrets it.

Bright, searing light attacks her blurred vision and she screws her eyes shut in a split second with a garbled curse.

It takes her a few minutes to realise where she is; she's too busy trying to acclimatise to the burning light that she realises is streaming in through a window – who the hell doesn't close the curtains before they go to bed? – and ignoring the stabbing pain that radiates inside her skull.

Jesus Christ.

How much did she drink last night?

She replays the previous night in her head as she lies on her back with an arm across her eyes and her dry mouth hanging open in a decidedly unladylike manner. There are some blank spots she can't for the life of her remember, but she thinks she can recall the majority of the night: there were some fireworks, a lot of drinking, too many people, and then –

She had kissed Regina – or Regina had kissed her. Whatever.

The penny drops and Emma realises then where she is, whose bed she's in, and how very naked she is.

Oh god.

She's naked in Regina fucking Mills' bed with a massive hangover the morning after New Year's Eve.

It's certainly an interesting start to the New Year, that much is true.

The Sheriff rolls clumsily out of the king-sized bed and lands with a thump on the floor. She needs to get the hell out of there, get hold of some painkillers, and try her best to forget this entire mess.

Emma freezes with her jeans halfway on when a low groan comes from the sleeping brunette on the other side of the bed.

This morning couldn't possibly get any worse.

Except then it does.

Regina lifts her head from beneath the thick sheets, trying to see through sleep-distorted vision what the cause of the movement and the thump was. Her hair is mussed and untidy, but somehow she still looks beautiful. Emma blushes when she remembers a flash of the previous night – how exactly Regina's hair reached that dishevelled state.

The Saviour's mouth falls open when the former mayor pushes herself up into a sitting position and the sheets fall down to her waist, revealing smooth, olive skin, blemished only by several dusky purple marks. The brunette rubs her bleary eyes with one hand, using the other to support herself, and then looks up.

Her eyes settle on Emma and her naked form. _Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god –_

Regina's eyes widen comically as she takes in the sight of the Sheriff standing naked in the middle of her bedroom, and then her own nakedness and the dark love bites that mark her skin. Bile rises in her throat, and worry begins to flutter in her stomach. What does this means for them now? She's had one-night stands before, of course, but none have been with anyone who could break her down or whom she cares at all for.

The former queen realises the thought she allowed through her head. Does she care for Emma? She tells herself she doesn't.

_Get a hold of yourself._

The brunette swallows, forces back her growing unease, and lifts her chin up. "Miss Swan," she greets with a tight smile (though she suspects it comes out more like a grimace). The formality and haughtiness might be a little much considering what they did the previous night – or morning, Regina realises as she vaguely recalls stumbling into bed with the Sheriff not half an hour after midnight – but Regina can't bring herself to be relaxed about this just yet, and she will _not_ show how much this thing bothers her.

Emma still stands frozen in the middle of the room, jeans hanging awkwardly around her knees as she gapes at the now awake and very naked brunette. She stammers out a couple of nonsense syllables before throwing herself into action; the blonde ungracefully struggles into her clothes from the night before as quickly as she can possibly manage. "I'll just be going," she mumbles apologetically.

It's uncharacteristic for her to be so awkward about sex – she's no prude, after all – but being caught sneaking out on the ex-mayor who happens to be the mother of her son will apparently do that to a person.

As nonchalantly as possible, Emma tries to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight whilst she dresses, but she isn't as subtle as she thinks she is because Regina notices.

"Emma," Regina interrupts, holding the pale sheets close to her chest. She's sure she's going to regret the words that next come out of her mouth, but she feels a pang of guilt at the thought of throwing the clearly very hung-over blonde out on her ass right away. "Wait. Let me get you something to drink and something to ease the pain," the brunette suggests with a sigh. If her own thumping headache is anything to go by, the younger woman could do with some painkillers.

The Saviour pauses as she's about to put her shirt on, arms trapped in the t-shirt and poised awkwardly above her head, and regards Regina cautiously. When she sees no hint of malicious intent on the other woman's face, she nods once and pulls the shirt over her head. "Alright."

"Give me five minutes. I'll meet you in the kitchen," Regina says. Emma nods again, glances quickly around the room in case she's left any articles of clothing anywhere, and then heads awkwardly out of the room.

When she's gone, Regina exhales and runs one hand through her dark hair. She never thought she'd be in this position, that's for sure.

* * *

Emma is sitting down at the island with her head in her hands when Regina strides in confidently, as if they weren't extremely hung-over and in an incredibly awkward situation.

"I see you've made yourself at home," she jibes, though it lacks the venom her remarks usually hold.

The Sheriff sits up and shrugs. Her mouth goes dry when she takes in the brunette's smart ensemble; a purple silk shirt, and a tight, black pencil skirt, topped off with stilettos. _Who the hell wears stilettos around the house?_

The blonde is at loss to how the brunette makes herself look so good in so little time, especially after such a messy night, and a small part of her wants the polished marble floor to open up and swallow her whole, because she's certain she doesn't look much better than road kill.

Regina makes herself busy at one of the cupboards, finding two small glasses and then filling them ice cold water. She sets the kettle to boil before sliding one of the glasses over to her and placing two small, white pills next to the glass. The older woman then perches on the seat next to Emma's with her own drink and her two painkillers.

"Thanks," Emma says lowly, throwing the drugs back easily and chasing them down with the water.

One curt nod is all she receives in response, but it's enough. Neither of them have the energy to throw witty remarks back and forth right now, but Regina remains too proud to be brought down to the level of soft, kind words.

They sit in silence until the kettle finishes boiling, and it's both uncomfortable and companionable; there's an unspoken connection and a mutual respect between the two women, but both are painfully aware of the horribly awkward position they're in.

"How do you take your coffee?" The brunette stands and moves to the kettle, filling two mugs with a couple of teaspoons of coffee grains and still steaming water.

"Cream and two sugars," Emma replies as the corners of her lips turn up slightly at Regina's hospitality.

A few minutes later, Regina comes back to the island with the two mugs and sets them down without a word.

"Thanks," the Sheriff murmurs into the mug. She hums appreciatively as she swallows her first mouthful of piping hot coffee; she should have known Regina would brew the good stuff.

After ten minutes of silence, Emma finally speaks. "So, are we gonna talk about what happened last night?"

The former queen swallows. She wants to say no, to shut the other woman down with her sharp tongue and put all her walls up before Emma can take a swing at her like anyone else undoubtedly would. For some reason, though, her tongue doesn't obey her head. "We were drunk," she states.

"Right," the Saviour agrees.

"It was a one-time thing. It will not happen again," Regina says sharply, but her voice isn't as harsh as it maybe should be. Nevertheless, Emma knows this is all she'll be able to draw from the closed-off woman.

The Sheriff nods. "A one-time thing."

When it happens a second time, and then again after that, it's unexpected, but somehow neither of the women are surprised.


End file.
